The Red Haired Boy
by adrielmoonstar
Summary: Why are Squibs so rare?
1. Chapter 1

The Red Haired Boy

It was time.

Arthur cleared his belongings off the small table in the corner and left a sickle for young Tom, to cover the use of the Floo as well as the pot of tea with which he'd played while preparing himself for the trip through Muggle London. The pub was nearly empty at the minute, lunch was well past, but the tea (and evening pint) crowd would soon start trickling in and today was not the day for idle chatter. (Or worse an encounter with one of the many Weasley relatives, cousin Ethelred had moved to London recently and everyone was stopping in with house-warming gifts in order to snoop around the new flat.)

With a deep breath he squared his shoulders and headed out the door, into the bright afternoon sun of Charing Cross Road. Of course he saw muggles frequently, in the village, but somehow they were different, and much stranger, here in London. He'd heard the description "more hair than wit", but apparently the current fashion was for more hair than clothing. It would not do to be caught staring…but there were so many of them, each dressed more strangely than the last.

The appointment was far enough that Amos had recommended taking a muggle hackney cab. And truthfully Arthur had always been fascinated by the distinctive black vehicles. (Someday he would figure out how the muggles had bred horses small enough to fit inside…) However, the driver would expect to be paid and Arthur was very much afraid that he'd gotten the wrong currency at Gringotts. Strangely colored bits of paper and odd shaped coins with tiny numbers on them, this was most definitely not the money he'd so diligently memorized in class back at Hogwarts. That at least had made sense. This was all very odd, and by the time he figured out how to pay for a ride he might as well have walked.

Crowds of people hopped on and off the fleet of red omnibuses, but the Weasleys had learned their lesson about _those_ years ago. Arthur and Molly had been trapped on one for hours before they realized that it only moved between fixed points, often quite slowly. That episode had dimmed Molly's enthusiasm for exploring any part of London outside Diagon Alley.

Fortunately, the parchment containing the details of the meeting contained a moderately strong homing charm, as well as written directions. A slight tug pulled him back on course whenever he was distracted by the shop windows with their strange static displays or a particularly outlandish costume. _Unfortunately,_ the charm did not contain any provision to assist in crossing the very busy roads. After receiving a number of worrisome curses (_intent, _after all, _is_ the key, regardless of magical ability) and encountering several vehicles a bit more closely than he had intended, Arthur decided that perhaps he should follow his fellow pedestrians who apparently had some type of coded system which signaled when it was safe to venture into the street.

As he moved toward his goal, the streets became increasingly maze-like with fewer automobiles and even fewer people. Just as he was beginning to worry that the charm had expired, it pulled him into the foyer of a modest, but relatively prosperous looking office building.

The parchment included instructions for using the small two-man lift which rose up through the center of the winding stairwell, but one look at the complicated gears and wires convinced Arthur that he'd rather climb the stairs to the third floor. There was only one office on the third floor. Discreet lettering on the door, _Diggory and Dogget_, matched the seal on Arthur's missive and a slight tingle told him that he had arrived.

A young woman sat at the reception desk amid an interesting mixture of muggle and magical artifacts. Arthur recognized the fellytone and typewriting machine, but a deceptively ornate owl perch stood behind the desk and a wand sat out in plain sight in a jar filled with colored sticks, some with rather nasty looking points.

She looked up, and, before Arthur could say word, she pushed a button on one of the more mysterious artifacts and said, "Madame Diggory, Mr. Weasley has arrived."

Before Arthur could even ask, she smiled and said, "You took the stairs. You're staring at my desk like you've never seen a phone. And sorry, but no muggle would be caught dead in those shoes… Besides, who do you think posted that note you're carrying?"

She came out from behind the desk, and Arthur found himself caught in a whirlwind of efficiency. He was shown to the coat closet, the washroom and the access stairs to the rooftop apparition point (and owlery), and settled in a meeting room with a pot of tea and his favorite biscuits…without ever speaking a word.

His head had just about stopped spinning when Camellia Diggory entered.

"So Arthur, what brings you out into the world today?"

"I need to arrange an adoption."

A/N: Thanks to Vera Rozalsky whose fics Paterfamilias and In Which the Princess Rescues the Dragon inspired me to post my first fanfic in many years. If you have not done so already, please read the stories in her amazing Amends,or Truth and Reconciliation universe. This story will only be a few chapters covering one issue from Arthur and Molly's POV, but her stories cover a vast, multi-faceted look at the post war wizarding world.


	2. Chapter 2

I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters and no money is being made in the production of this fanfiction.

"_So Arthur, what brings you out into the world today?"_

"_I need to arrange an adoption."_

******Two days earlier

"Merci, Arthur." Marie Fawcett, sighed as she closed the door to the small study where they had deposited the suddenly boneless body of her inebriated son. "I do not know what he was thinking, to drink so much and think to come home alone. If not for you, he could have splinched, or worse…" Her voice trailed off as they both contemplated the sorry permutations of the word _worse_. This truly was no time for anyone in the wizarding world to be caught without their wits about them.

"If it is any consolation, Madame Marie, Marius was certainly not the only one to overindulge. I'm not sure why the Ministry continues to have these affairs. We used to bring in new staff when people retired or went on sabbatical, and small welcome lunches were quite nice. But now… It's as if someone in the Minister's office enjoys rubbing salt in the wounds." In fact, Arthur was beginning to suspect that the junior protocol officer might actually be _trying_ to start a riot. Why else would the simpering little toad have made attendance mandatory at the new ministry-wide welcome receptions? Officially, the events were supposed to demonstrate "resolve" and "unity". In practice, however, far too many ministry employees, like Marius Fawcett, were being forced to "celebrate" the replacement of friends and family members who had died or mysteriously disappeared.

"Oui. You English wish to soldier on, with the firm upper lip. I told him to stay home today, but he said no, that Jean-Paul would have wanted him to go. Bah! I should have sent them both to Beauxbatons." Arthur might have believed the cynical note in her voice if he didn't know that Marie Legrand had been a leader in the French campaign against Grindelwald. (Rumor said she'd been involved in the muggle conflict as well…it was no wonder JP had been one of the first to join Dumbledore's fight against Voldemort.)

"What about you, Arthur? Can I offer you the tea, or perhaps some biscuits? Side-along Apparition is quite a lot of work when you are hauling an uncooperative lump who outweighs you by a stone. I wouldn't want you to splinch yourself on the way home. Or would you perhaps prefer to use the Floo?" Marie put her hand on Arthur's shoulder to steer him to the kitchen, falling into the old habit of being his best friend's mum. But Arthur shook his head and turned toward the door.

"Thank you, but no. I need to walk a bit, clear my head. Otherwise I'll be no fit company for Molly and the boys." Before she could protest, he continued, "Don't worry. It won't be dark for another hour and _I _didn't drink anything at the reception." _I never do._ With a quick hug, and a kiss on the cheek (Madame Marie was _French, _after all), Arthur ducked out the door and headed down the lane towards the village.

Maybe these mandatory social events _would_ be more tolerable with a buffer of alcohol. But Arthur was always afraid that would make him forget the amiable, noncommittal answers he had so carefully memorized for the inevitable questions. "Why did you leave the Department of Mysteries?" "Too theoretical" _I pointed out a security breach that my superiors didn't want to know about._ "When are you going to settle down in another Department?" "When I find the right niche." _When someone offers me a position that's not at the bottom of the food chain._ "You're not planning to leave the Ministry, are you?" "Not at all, although if Professor Binns ever retires I might apply for his job." _First chance I get!_

There were days when Arthur Weasley really hated the Ministry of Magic, and today was definitely one of them. These stupid receptions always put him in a funk. And he was apparently not alone, given the increasingly ugly mood, the next event really _was_ likely to end in a drunken brawl. The gatherings were just one symptom of the senseless waste of manpower and resources that disgusted Arthur. True, the cost of one party, or even ten, would not cover the training and salaries of more Aurors, but it _would_ buy dragonhide armor and detection equipment. And really, unity was all well and good, but company time would be better spent on training and reorganizing to effectively fight Lord Voldemort and his ever-increasing minions, at least in Arthur's opinion.

On days like today, Arthur could almost understand Voldemort's appeal to the scions of the old pure blood families, raised on tales of the glory days of Wizard Britain. It wouldn't be hard to downplay the really ugly parts of the supremacist rhetoric in the face of sheer _effectiveness_. While the Ministry prattled on about "resolve" and "unity", the undermanned Department of Magical Law Enforcement struggled to maintain even a semblance of order. Attacks and disappearances received only the most perfunctory investigation, and Merlin help any hapless muggles who fell afoul of the Death Eaters…It was reaching the point where people were becoming afraid to even mention Voldemort's _name_ for fear of drawing their attention.

"This is not helping," Arthur muttered, "the whole point of walking home was to be calm." _And now I'm talking to myself_…

A summer's evening in Devon was a balm for the spirit. Once Arthur forced himself to focus on the songs of the birds and the music of the river instead rehashing the troubles of the day, he began to relax and appreciate his surroundings…blue sky, wildflowers, children and dogs playing down in the village… Flooing into London every day, he sometimes forgot how lucky he was to live in Ottery St. Catchpole.

Godric's Hollow was the largest mixed-magic village in Britain, and Lesser Misselton had the strongest magical aura. But Ottery St. Catchpole had something even better in Arthur's mind. It had muggles who actually remembered magic. Well, more or less. They still danced the maypole in the spring, chased pixies at midsummer, and carried the flaming barrels through the streets at Samhain. These "quaint local traditions" (as he'd seen them described in a local guidebook) provided the perfect opportunity for the community's wizarding families to maintain the ancient protections on the local fields and forests and renew the wards on the village itself.

Some of the village muggles, mostly children but a few adults as well, could actually _see_ magic. They did not understand what it truly was, of course, but they didn't refuse to see it as so many outsiders did. "Strange things happen hereabouts," they would say, "nothing to worry over." Once, Arthur had even come across a pair of muggle children playing near the river with a kelpie pup, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

The one thing the village lacked was a wizarding shop, a place to pick up simple potions (a surprising number of witches and wizards never brewed anything at home), household charms, or sundry items like quills and parchment. The building in front of the Owl Post Office was up for sale and Molly had high hopes of opening just such a shop, maybe with a small tea shop in front for the muggle trade.

According to the twins, Granny Prewett had had enough of her descendants' stubbornness. She was ready to "invest" her own money in the shop and circumvent the whole issue of Molly's dowry. A good thing, since rocks would bend before Ezekiel or Molly Prewett.

Knowing Molly, she'd have shops in every wizarding village in England, by the time the boys started Hogwarts…then she'd move onto the rest of Europe. Arthur turned into the lane leading up to the Burrow smiling at the thought leaving the ministry for a family business. He thought might quite enjoy manning the till, as long as he didn't have to cook anything…that would not be good for business.

His good mood evaporated as soon as he opened the door.

The house was too quiet and much too clean. Molly had a habit of scrubbing things when she was upset, so the fact that he could practically see his own reflection in the kitchen floor was not a good sign. It was too early for all the boys to be asleep, but Arthur didn't hear any of the usual evening noise, no games, no splashing in the bathtub, no stories…just silence. He made his way up through the house until he found Molly, alone in the nursery with Edward, silent tears running down her face.

"What are we going to do Arthur? Edward is a squib."

A/N: My version of Molly Prewett Weasley has been highly influenced by the Molly found in Vera Rozalsky's stories Amends, or Truth and Reconciliation and In Which the Princess Rescues the Dragon. Among the many wonderfully nuanced characters in these stories you will find an extremely capable, but very angry Molly Weasley. I hope that part of this story will show how she might have got that way.

Pixie Day, and the Tar Barrel races are real traditions in the Devon village of Ottery St. Mary.


	3. Chapter 3

I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters and no money is being made in the production of this fanfiction.

The Red Haired Boy- Chapter 3

"_What are we going to do Arthur? Edward is a squib." _

Arthur slowly walked into the room, looking around. The unnatural cleanliness of the rest of the house was completely absent here. A pile of dog-eared journals lay on the floor next to the rocking chair. Potion vials and first aid supplies were strewn on the floor along with toys, and dirty clothes. Very dirty clothes…with brownish stains that looked like they might be…blood?

"Molly, Sweetheart, what happened in here?" Arthur asked, concentrating on maintaining a calm even tone despite his growing panic. "Where are Bill and Charlie?"

"They were just playing. But the broomstick…Charlie dropped him…They didn't know what to do, and by the time I got here there w-was so much blood. They were all covered in it. Billy was so brave...he went through the Floo all by himself to get help. Marlene arrived so quickly she must have thought someone was dead, and I was afraid she might be right…Once we were finished working on Edward, she and Gideon took the other boys for the night…Couldn't reach you at the Ministry…"

Her voice rose as she rambled on, and Arthur could see that she was on the verge of hysteria. He crouched down in front of the old rocking chair and reached out for the sleeping baby, who was beginning to fuss as if Molly's emotions were seeping through the soft blue blanket. She clutched the child for another moment, and then reluctantly passed him to her husband, who laid him gently in the cot.

Although Molly's explanation couldn't exactly be described as either concise or coherent, Arthur had a fairly good idea of what had happened. Toy broomsticks were charmed to fly a foot or two above the ground, but they were not charmed to _limit_ flying height. Both of the older boys were natural flyers, and when they were excited they could make the brooms go considerably higher, Charlie especially. They'd never tried to stop the boys doing it. Arthur didn't want to stunt their abilities, and Molly was afraid if they noticed what they were doing they would freeze and fall, which apparently was what happened today.

There were times when it was extremely convenient to have a pair of Healers in the family (or practically in the family in Marlene's case). They were both senior apprentices, far enough along in their training to deal with most household accidents. And who else would throw in the emergency child minding?

Molly had clearly spent the rest of the day working herself into a panic, alternating between watching over Edward's healing trance and frantically cleaning the house. He should have been home hours ago…Damn the ministry for that ridiculous party!

He turned back toward Molly, gently taking her elbow and helping her out of the chair. "Come on Sweetheart, let's go down to the kitchen. We shouldn't wake Edward until morning and we need to talk. The monitoring charms will let us know if anything changes here."

Molly nodded, wiping her eyes, and bending to grab the pile of journals before leaving the room. Arthur followed her down the stairs into the eerily tidy kitchen.

She did not begin talking immediately, as he had expected, but rather sat down at the table, shoulders slumped in defeat.

Now Arthur was really worried. He could handle sobs, hysteria, shouting, even a little broken crockery (a good _reparo _was an essential skill in the Weasley family), but this was…troubling. Surmising that Molly had not eaten, he put off the inevitable for a few minutes preparing a toasted cheese sandwich and a pot of tea. Taking a deep breath, he set them down on the table and sat down next to her. "Molly, can you tell me what has you so upset. This was a bad accident, but everyone is fine. We've had mishaps before, and with three active little boys, I'm sure we'll have plenty more in the future."

Molly finally looked at him, answering. "That's just it, Arthur, I'm afraid that we'll have more accidents like _this,_ or worse. Now that Edward can walk he follows the other boys everywhere, and he isn't protecting himself. He's not showing any signs of magic, and he never has."

Arthur saw where this was leading, and much as he wanted to, he couldn't argue with Molly's logic. At least half of all juvenile manifestations, so-called "wild magic", were incidents of self defense in one way or another. This was not the first time Edward had been caught up in his brothers' magic without displaying any of his own, only the first time anyone actually got hurt.

Wordlessly Molly pushed the pile of papers toward him. There were times when it was extremely inconvenient to have a pair of Healers in the family. Gideon was specializing in Pediatric Healing which gave Molly access to far too much medical information, every time one of the boys got sick she would research every symptom, until she was convinced that they all were dying of some exotic disease. Arthur sighed and began to read the passages she had marked.

_Incidents of wild magic during labor and delivery have not been considered a reliable indicator of the newborn's magical potential. Healers have traditionally taken the cautious view that such displays were more likely to be a symptom of the mother's loss of control in the face of the pains of childbirth than to be a manifestation of the infant's magic. However, anecdotal evidence from the parents of muggleborn witches and wizards indicates that such incidents regularly occur at these births as well. Parents (and occasionally hospital records) often report "strange" or "unusual" events during the births of children who would eventually be identified as magical. The effect in these cases cannot possibly come from the mother. Therefore we should assume that such incidents are a fairly reliable predictor of a child with strong magical ability._

Arthur looked up from the text. "Molly, this doesn't prove anything. Well, maybe that we could have been sure about Bill and Charlie right away… But, my brother Gareth was born at home, and believe me there was no wild magic at his birth. He's a perfectly adequate wizard."

Molly shook her head. "No. Look at the other article, the one about timing."

Arthur dug through the pile of journals and found another that Molly had marked with a piece of parchment. He skipped to the conclusion, which she had circled with red ink.

_In conclusion, birth order strongly affects the timing of observable expressions of a child's magical ability. The first child in a family is almost always the slowest to manifest. A second child may take as long (occasionally longer if his or her magical potential is significantly weaker). However, regardless of magical strength, younger siblings almost always manifest somewhat earlier. It is not clear whether this is a self-defense mechanism or the result of a magic rich environment. However, the pattern is too strong to ignore._

Arthur pushed the articles aside, absently getting up to make another pot of tea. "Latest born, earliest magic." The unknown author had codified one of his grandmother's cryptic sayings, and Arthur couldn't deny that he'd been thinking that Edward should have shown something by now. Bill had shown his first signs of magic at fourteen months. Faint signs to be sure, but Molly was much more attentive to such things than the house elves in charge of most Pureblood nurseries. Charlie's first incident was rather more spectacular (a toy dragon spit flame when Bill tried to take it), and earlier, at eleven months. Edward was nearly sixteen months with no signs of magic at all.

A sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach said that Molly was right, but Arthur tried to fight it. Returning to the table, he sat across from Molly and said, "It is still too early to be sure. It is traditional to wait until a child turns three…"

Molly cut him off with a flare of her usual fiery temper. "Yes, and the _traditional _solution is a mixture of Dreamless Sleep and elderberry wine." She spat the words in disgust. "We won't be having any part of that tradition."

Arthur's Great Aunt Ermintrude had once horrified him by suggesting Painless Poppy Potion mixed with honeyed tea for such situations. A detached part of his brain was appalled at the fact that they actually had a choice of _family recipes_ to "take care" of a beloved child.

He reached across the table to take Molly's hands in his own. Looking in her eyes he replied, "We will never do anything to harm Edward. If he is a squib, we will find a way to give him the best life possible."

**A/N** If you haven't yet, you really must read Vera Rozalsky's "Paterfamilias" to read about the "tradional" solution to Molly and Arthur's dilemma.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Red Haired Boy Chapter 4**

I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters and no money is being made in the production of this fanfiction.

_He reached across the table to take Molly's hands in his own. Looking in her eyes he replied, "We will never do anything to harm Edward. If he is a squib, we will find a way to give him the best life possible."_

Molly sighed, asking tiredly, "How exactly are we going to do that, Arthur? There is no _good_ life for a squib in our world. Assuming he survives any other accidents like the one today, what would he have to look forward to? Pushing a broom at the ministry? Raising chickens for Aunt Muriel? Look at Eustace Figg's poor widow, forced to live with that awful uncle of his in Knockturn Alley of all places."

Truth be told, Arthur had a great deal of respect for Arabella Figg.

Far too many of the wealthy and powerful of the wizarding world stood by as Voldemort's rhetoric became increasingly ugly (and his followers' actions correspondingly more violent). Although some certainly agreed with the Death Eaters, most were simply afraid to take a stand. So when the young widow Figg, a practically penniless squib, chose to join Albus Dumbledore in his fight against the so called "Dark Lord", that was real courage in Arthur's book.

Fabian Prewett had once told Arthur (after a bit more Firewhiskey than was perhaps advisable for a member of the Order of the Phoenix) that the secret to avoiding magical surveillance was what he called "old fashioned muggle spy craft". According to his brother-in-law, most pureblood wizards were far too arrogant to even think of looking for things like physical signals or dead dropped messages. (Although Arthur privately thought that ghostly couriers would actually be fairly obvious.)

By accepting employment, however unpleasant, with Jeremiah Figg, Arabella had positioned herself to become the perfect messenger. Despite its unsavoury reputation, Knockturn Alley was still one of the major thoroughfares in the tiny London Borough of Diagon and as the man said, "there is in Diagon all that magic can afford." Everyone had a reason to visit. The wealthy and powerful came to dine and be seen at Summerisle's. Ordinary wizarding folk shopped, visited the apothecary, had an ice cream at Fortescue's or a pint at the Leaky. Less respectable sorts might be found at a number of less salubrious pubs, or Figg's pawnshop for that matter. Anyone could visit Diagon without raising suspicion, and Arabella Figg could leave signals for any one of them.

So Arthur did not share Molly's pity for Mrs. Figg, but he had to concede the point. Making the best of a bad situation didn't improve the actual situation. He certainly wouldn't want any child of theirs to be at the mercy of a scoundrel like Jeremiah Figg.

"Well then," he said. "There's nothing for it, he'll have to live in the muggle world."

Molly nearly tipped over the teacup she'd been half-heartedly stirring as she gaped at him in shock. "Arthur, we are no more capable of raising a child to live in the muggle world than in the jungles of the Amazon. Rather less, I expect. At least there are charms to tame the wild beasts."

"People learn. Muggleborns learn to live in our world all the time…"

"More or less," Molly interrupted. "Some do a much better job than others. And you can always tell that they are just a bit out of place. Which is fine, since on our side of the border no one has to worry about _violating the statute of secrecy_."

Arthur winced. After all these years, he'd almost managed to forget the humiliation of being dragged into Madame Hopkirk's office and threatened with expulsion from Hogwarts. He and Jean-Paul had been lucky. Her assistant at the time had grown up in Ottery St. Catchpole, and had confirmed that the locator spell they'd foolishly used on a trip into Exeter wouldn't have rated a second glance in the village. Unfortunately, the defence, _"I didn't know any better,"_ did not exactly support his point in the current discussion.

However, he was not ready to give up. He knew that this was possible! It had been done in Molly's own family, surely she knew how. "What about your cousin Adrian?" he asked. "He gets on fairly well in the muggle world, doesn't he? He does some sort of maths…for muggle banks?"

Shaking her head sadly, Molly answered absently, "They call it accounting, and he works for a firm that handles investments. Does _quite_ well actually since he started handling the goblins' muggle interests…"

Taking a deep breath, she continued. "Adrian's story is actually a lot more complicated than it seems on the surface. Of course they won't hear a word of criticism from outsiders, but it is considered something of a scandal within the family. Worse than Bilius' affair with the Latin tutor, but not quite so bad as say eloping with a muggle…"

Arthur nodded in understanding, in pureblood circles _that_ was the scandal that would never die.

"First of all, Adrian is actually my father's cousin. He's only a few years older than the twins, but his parents were married for over twenty years before he was born. Maude and Howard had given upon the possibility of ever having children, so he was their little miracle. Everyone doted on him, parents, grandparents, house elves. I'm not sure that he ever had a chance to really _want_ anything, and he certainly never needed to protect himself. He was well past his third birthday before anyone noticed that there had never been any incidents of wild magic. "

Molly's voice shook a bit, as her story recalled the day's events. Arthur could tell that she was restraining herself from dashing back up to the nursery to hold Edward in her arms (not that he wasn't doing the same himself). She paused to take a sip of the tea she'd been stirring, and grimaced at the taste. She vanished the contents and poured a new cup from the pot Arthur had prepared. He suspected that this batch would fare no better, but the familiar act of preparing the brew seemed to stave off hysteria.

Once she had prepared a cup to her liking, or perhaps got control of her emotions, Molly went on. "The scandalous bit comes next. Maude, of course, absolutely refused to give him up or put him away. And the family would have understood - it happens. Except, she didn't hide him up in the nursery, or have him tutored in some menial skill that he might be able to use to eke out a living in our world. No, she and Howard rearranged their entire lives, and quite openly, too. They moved to Godric's Hollow and rented a house in a muggle neighbourhood. They hired a muggleborn witch, just out of Hogwarts, as a nanny to prepare Adrian for muggle schools. I think she may actually have used to polyjuice to represent Maude at school functions, I know she tutored both parents extensively before any type of contact with his teachers. They even bought a license for some muggle version of a talking painting, for 'cultural exposure'. Eventually they sent him to a muggle boarding school. From what I've heard the vetting process for _that_ required some very skilled document forgeries and more than a few well placed memory charms. And apparently muggles no longer have apprenticeships; those who want to join a profession go to university."

"All of them?" Arthur was shocked. In the wizarding world university was reserved for the extremely wealthy, or shockingly brilliant. Apart from a tiny elite Healer's program in Edinburgh, no wizarding universities even existed in Britain any longer. There had once been small wizarding colleges at both Oxford and Cambridge, but the restrictions imposed by the Statute of Secrecy had eventually forced them to close. In fact, Professor Dumbledore was the only person Arthur knew with a university degree, from Paris. (He'd heard rumours about Flickwick and Heidelberg, but he was fairly certain that had to do with duelling.)

Molly nodded glumly. "Not _every_ muggle, of course, but it seems a university degree is required for what are considered "good jobs". And apparently there is a completely different type of school required for craftsmen or artisans. It's all very confusing."

And expensive… Although unsaid, the final phrase hung over the conversation like a shroud.

Arthur reached over and poured himself a cup of tea, trying to disguise the disappointment, and guilt, suddenly sweeping over him. He'd been ignoring a nagging suspicion about Edward's lack of magic for months, in part because he thought there was a workable alternative. Molly's family knew the solution, so there was no need to worry. Except now it seemed that the solution was money…something of a rarity in the Weasley family.

Almost anyone could afford an excellent education in the wizarding world. After nearly a thousand years of bequests and investments, Hogwarts' endowments had grown to the point where the school had stopped charging for tuition nearly a century before. Books, uniforms and board were within the reach of most families. A small special fund was maintained to assist orphans, or children with muggle parents who refused to support a magical education. Only the most pretentious (or desperate) paid to send children to Durmstrang or Beauxbatons (or schools in the former colonies).

If Molly's proposed business venture failed to prosper, the Weasleys could easily send three boys to Hogwarts on Arthur's salary from the Ministry. But thirteen years of muggle schools, and _university_, that was about as likely as flying without a broom. Not to mention the repercussions that kind of life would have for Bill and Charlie.

The old kitchen, which Arthur had always thought of as homey and charming, suddenly seemed shabby and worn, every dent and chip a reproach. The sparkling surfaces, resulting from Molly's earlier bout of nervous cleaning, only made him feel worse. She'd given up so much to marry him; house elves, fashionable clothes, family holidays, even a prestigious apprenticeship. And now it looked like her faith in him was about to be rewarded with heartbreak.

After one last stir, he pushed to tea cup aside. With a sigh he began, "Molly I'm so sorry…"

"Don't you dare, Arthur Weasley!" Molly interrupted, eyes blazing. Rising from the table she began to pace about the room. "What do you think you have to apologize for? Doing the right thing at the Ministry? Being the man I chose to love? Wanting the best for your children? What would you have done differently?"

"Nothing," he answered, miserably. "But you could have had…"

"A rich husband? A perfect pureblood marriage? Of course I could have. There was even talk about a match with Lucius Malfoy," she added with a tight grimace which might have been an attempt at a teasing grin.

As Arthur choked on his tea, she went on. "I said that there was _talk_, not that anyone actually thought it was good idea. No, he and Cissy were besotted with each other back then, still are from what I hear. Good thing, too, otherwise I expect she might have fallen victim to an 'unfortunate accident' by now."

Arthur couldn't think of a word to say. How in Godric's name had the conversation come around to Narcissa Black Malfoy of all people?

His disbelieving look must have conveyed his confusion, because Molly went on, a bit more calmly. "I'm not going to pretend that we were ever close, but she is my _cousin_ after all. I know for a fact that Narcissa was expecting in her last year at Hogwarts, and I strongly suspect that there have been other pregnancies since."

"But the Malfoys don't have any children." Arthur protested.

"Exactly." Molly replied. "A basket in the churchyard is certainly not the future I'd hoped for any of my children. But there are worse possibilities." She glanced at the pile of Healer's journals now pushed off to the side of the table and added darkly, "_much worse_."

Arthur sighed and spent a few moments staring blankly into the dregs of the tea he did not recall drinking; his shoulders were now the ones slumped in defeat. Finally he pushed his chair back from the table and walked over to where Molly stood staring out the kitchen window, though the boys' miniature Quidditch pitch, the scene of today's fateful accident, was hidden in the darkness. He put his arms around her and she leaned back against him.

They stood like that for an instant, or perhaps it was an eternity, drawing strength from each other. Until finally Molly turned around, taking both of Arthur's hands in hers.

"You're certain there's no other way?" he asked.

When she nodded, wiping a tear from her eye, he continued. "Well then, I'm not willing to trust Edward's welfare to an abandoned basket, the nights have been chilly and the churchyard always looks a bit overgrown as I walk by. Amos Diggory's aunt runs a small firm that specialises in dealings with muggles. I'll owl her first thing in the morning."

Author's notes:

In the story _Hogwarts 1835 _King in Yellow presents Diagon as a wizarding village in the process of being swallowed by Greater London. In the 1960's such villages officially became London Boroughs. (Most Boroughs contain more than one village, but Diagon is surely a special case.)

You can share a wonderful dining experience with Harry at Summerisle's in Arsinoe de Blassenville's _The Best Revenge_.

See the two most recent chapters of Vera Rozalsky's _Four O'clock in the Morning_ for some of the "much worse" possibilities. (And the rest of the story for a great read!)


End file.
